Deepsix

When they had enough power to get some lift out of the spike, Hutch eased into her seat, murmured a prayer, and pressed a stud. Her control panel came to life, and she raised a joyous fist. "On our way, baby," she said.

She opened the command menu and pressed the green field marked Tess. Nothing happened except that the charge level dipped.

"Tess?" Hutch said. "Are you there?"

A status line appeared on the AI monitor. It was flat.

"Looks as if Tess has gone to a happier world," said Kellie.

"I'd say."

"Try again?"

"No point. It just eats up power." She extracted the control yoke from its bin and locked it into position.

Now she took a deep breath and started the turbines.

They sputtered, coughed, tried again, and finally staggered into life. She talked to them and coaxed them along until the power flow became smooth. "I do believe we're in business," she said.

"Do we have any lift?"

"Let's find out." Hutch directed power into the spike. The gauges quivered and moved up a few notches. They were getting about twenty percent. Actually not bad, considering the age and probable condition of the capacitors. Not enough to get them into orbit, of course. Not nearly enough. But enough to get them off the ground.

Hutch opened the manual start-up compartment and activated the flight systems. Several lamps blinked on, gauges that would indicate airspeed, altitude, fuel mixture, engine temperature.

She couldn't taxi across the field and take off like twenty-first-century aircraft because she had no wheels. But the spike would get her up a couple of meters, and she could take it from there.

She drew her harness down and locked it in place. The spike activator was an illuminated gold panel. She pushed on it. Lamps changed color, and the word engaged appeared on her screen. Hutch felt her weight diminish somewhat. She put the thrusters into the lift mode and fired them. The vehicle rose.

It didn't go high. She could have jumped out without fear. But it was sufficient unto the day.

Kellie planted her lips on her cheek.

She maneuvered the spacecraft toward the river and brought it down on the bank. Then she shut everything off and they hustled outside.

Marcel chose that moment of absolute joy to break in. "Bad news. The water's breaking through."

"What are prospects?"

"It's not major yet. But it's going to get worse in a hurry."

They attached the hose to the reactor tank, dropped the other end into the river, and started the pump. Twenty minutes later, they had full tanks.

They retrieved the pump and hose, waited patiently for another half hour while the reactor did its work. Then they lifted into the air and turned toward the northeast. Hutch raised her flaps and gu

XXIII

Despite all these years, we have not yet found anyone smarter than homosapiens. The Noks remain caught up in their endless wars. Everyone else is dead, missing, or gone back to the woods. We are wi

Hours to breakup (est): 75

After Hutch and Kellie disappeared into the forest. Nightingale and MacAllister built a fire. Whatever adrenaline had been keeping MacAllister going now deserted him, and he sat almost motionless, eyes closed, propped against a tree. Nightingale had also reached the limits of his endurance, but he was frightened at the prospect of falling asleep, leaving nobody on watch.

He made coffee, drank it down, and felt marginally better.

Thank God the ordeal was almost over. This time tomorrow, if everything went well, he'd be out of it, back on Wildside, enjoying a hot shower, sleeping in a real bunk, ordering up whatever meals might cross his mind.

MacAllister mumbled something. His breathing fell to a regular pattern, and Nightingale listened to the wind in the trees and the hum of insects.

He looked out over the bay. Far below, large sea-colored birds flew in wide lazy circles, occasionally diving toward the water. He refilled his mug, sipped from it, put it down, dozed off, and snapped awake again when something touched his leg. It was a big bug with ten or twelve pairs of segmented legs and a vicious-looking set of claws.

About the size of a lobster. He screamed, rolled away, and watched it scuttle back into the shrubbery.

Big bug. Hell of a reaction from a professional.

MacAllister never stirred.

But the incident had the effect of bringing him thoroughly awake. He talked to Hutch and Kellie, left the circuit on so he could listen in on their conversation, and occasionally traded comments with the Wendy mathematician who was their current contact. Then he began to sink again. "Trouble staying awake," he eventually told the mathematician.

"Okay." She had a burgundy voice. "Take off your link, set it for wide-angle visual, and let's aim it back into the woods. I'll try to keep watch for you."

They wouldn't be able to see everything, she explained, but it would be better than nothing. He killed his field, removed the link, and set it on a rock. Then he buttoned up again.

"If we see anything," she told him, "I'll give a yell."

Nightingale lay back, listening to the sullen roar of the tide. Then he closed his eyes.

He was vaguely aware of rain. Later he heard thunder. Another quake woke him briefly. And eventually he noticed that it had grown dark. MacAllister had apparently wakened long enough to throw a couple more logs on the fire. But he was fast asleep at the moment.

The tide was coming in. MacAllister sat gazing bleakly out over the bay.

"How're we doing?" Nightingale asked. "Did they find the lander?"

"Ah." MacAllister poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. "You're awake." He reached out and patted him on the shoulder, the way one might a pet collie. "Yes," he said, "I'm happy to report they got there okay." He made a second cup for Nightingale. "Far as I can tell, they're doing fine."

"Did they get it started?"

"Yes they did. A couple of hours ago, in fact." Broad smile. "They're loading up on fuel now. Randy, I do believe we're going to get away from this place with our skins after all."

"I hope so."

It was too cold to leave the suit off long, so Nightingale drank the coffee down and reactivated the field. That was something else he was looking forward to: being able to do basic physical maintenance without getting half-frozen.

A scattering sound drifted up over the lip of the precipice. They looked at each other and drew their cutters from their vests. Nightingale walked to the edge and looked down. The entire face of the cliff was moving.

Coming this way.

"Heads up!" he told MacAllister.

Two pairs of jointed limbs appeared over the edge, scrabbled for a hold, and then a hardshell black creature, with somewhat the appearance of an ant about the size of a guard dog, climbed up onto flat ground. It weaved momentarily, righted itself, and clacked off past them into the dark.

But not before Nightingale had assessed it. The thing had claws like a garden shears, eight thin segmented legs, and several sets of stalks.

A second one cleared the crest and lurched past them. Several more were scratching wildly for a grip on the bare rock.

Chittering and clacking, they hoisted themselves up, crossed through the firelight, and kept going.

"Mac?"

MacAllister had backed against a tree. "Yes," he said in a small voice. "I'm here."

"I think we're going to get lots of these things." More were scrambling onto the summit. Mac's cutter flashed on.

Nightingale was looking frantically for a refuge. "They're trying to get away from the rising tide."

"What are they?"

"Big and clumsy. And dangerous."

The numbers coming over the lip of the cliff seemed endless. "What do we do, Randy? Get behind the fire?"